


Itch to Scratch

by Trish47



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BMX Rider Rey, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Ben is an absolute nerd about food, Broken Bones, Comfort Food, Cooking, F/M, Feeding, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Food Vlogger Ben, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Interrupted Kissing, Oral Sex, Phallic Foods, Rey (Star Wars) is a Mess, Roommates, Sexual Frustration, Undressing, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators, ben just wants to teach her some basic manners, but also secretly loves it, more tags may be added, she's feral, what is 'these two are idiots' mr. trebek, who quickly fail at the friends part, wine mishaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24182023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trish47/pseuds/Trish47
Summary: Breaking her arms after a missed landing, Rey has to put her BMX training on hold for six weeks. While Rose initially sees to most of her personal needs, it’s their new roommate, Ben, whose expertise leaves her deliciously satisfied.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 86
Kudos: 501
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	1. Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt that spoke to me from the Reylo_Prompts Twitter account. I really should block them because I don't need more WIPs, but there are so many gems of ideas! I've had a lot of fun writing this. Was originally going to be a cracky oneshot, and now there are _feelings_ and three parts.
> 
> Thank you to [Kira_khaleesi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kira_khaleesi/pseuds/kira_khaleesi) for looking this over!

Months from now, it would make for a good story. Once she recovered and lined the ramps with skid marks on her way to a championship trophy, Rey and her crew would gather around a bonfire on Maz’s patio and toast to her glorious comeback. Nothing could keep her away from rejoining Riding Rebels, certainly not a few broken bones. Sure, many riders would hang up their helmets after a hard landing and multiple fractures—there were only so many mistakes you could walk away from, her mentor had cautioned her while sitting beside her in the ER—but Rey was only a few years into the sport. Giving up felt premature.

_“You wouldn’t be the first natural talent to take a different path after a scare.”_

_She’d stared at the x-rays on the lighted board. The white lines denoting her breaks didn’t look threatening, though the painkillers the nurse supplied had suffused her thinking in a rosy balm. Rey wouldn’t let her injury toss her in the has-been bin. “I’m not finished, Greer.”_

_“Remember: fate doesn’t disclose your number.”_

_“No one sets my number except me,” she’d reminded her with a smile, “and I’ve still got eight more lives.”_

_Greer had shaken her head, but her lips quirked in return. “Sure, Catwoman.”_

Rey clung to knowing she had a knack for landing on her wheels, no matter what type of inversions or tricks she attempted with her bike. It would lead her to victory once this business of having her left forearm in an itchy, nightmarishly pink, cast and her right arm immobilized in a heavy-duty sling was over. She only had to wait six weeks. A cake walk.

Yes, in a little more than a month, she’d laugh with her friends about the jump gone awry as they watched this stupid piece of neon plaster go up in flames.

* * *

By the end of the second day, Rey discreetly texted Finn to tell him he needed to do a better job of distracting his girlfriend. Preferably at his apartment, far, far away. Rose hovered like one of those helicopter moms she’d heard about though hadn’t ever dreamed she’d experience. Every five minutes, she asked if anything hurt, if her pillows were fluffed enough, if she needed to pee. Her concern was sweet, though her methods sometimes bordered on pushy, especially when it came to any kind of physical activity. She’d stacked books, laundry, and cleaning supplies on the treadmill twenty minutes after Rey had dared attempt a workout.

“You’re not breaking any more bones on my watch,” she declared, ushering her back to bed.

Unaccustomed to such care, Rey bucked at the suffocating feeling. “I’m not a complete invalid. I don’t need to be coddled.”

Rose scoffed, hurt. A hand curled over her chest. “I’m not coddling you! I’m helping.”

It was true she’d been an immense help as Rey re-learned how to brush her teeth and pull on fresh pajama bottoms with her temporary handicap. Without Rose's assistance in the shower, she’d still be covered in a mix of dirt, sweat, and blood after her failed landing. But she needed her friend to understand that she didn’t require constant surveillance. “You are,” she acknowledged with no small measure of gratitude, “but I can get by better than you think.”

“You couldn’t put on your socks this morning.”

Anyone could argue it was a challenging task when you didn’t have a full hand to work with. Rey pressed her position: “So I’ll walk around with cold feet.”

Rose sank down to her bed, picking at hangnails in her lap instead of looking at Rey. “You want me to leave you alone.”

Rey moved over and sat next to her, bumping her with her intact shoulder. “Hey, I still need you. I’ll start to smell funky if you leave me to try washing on my own.” Encouraged by the light laugh she earned, Rey continued, “You know you’re like a sister to me. And that’s who I need. A sister, not a mom. Can we bring the intensity down a few notches?”

Rose peered up at her and sniffed away the emotion in her eyes. “I can do that.”

Hugging with Rey’s two broken arms was awkward, but they managed, giggling as they disentangled. Rose chewed on her inner cheek after pulling back. “So, this means you won’t mind if I go to Finn’s? He’s been texting nonstop.”

“I’ll survive, I promise.” Rey hoped her smile didn’t give her away. Rose didn’t need to know who’d lit that particular fire under her boyfriend’s butt.

Rey’s right eye stopped twitching as she bid her friend goodbye with an agreement she would text when she needed anything. As soon as the door closed, she plodded into the kitchen to search for something to eat. Thanks to their other roommate, Ben, the fridge never had an inch of free shelf space. He crammed in ingredients and Tupperware several layers high and stacks deep. Not that they were allowed to eat any of it—a fact Rey had already been reminded of a time or two with bright sticky-notes placed on the appliance's exterior.

_These are for my job. Please refrain from eating. :)_ or _Practice good manners: ask first._

She did her best not to knock over the mason jars full of fresh herbs as she found the pickle jar and slid it forward on the glass, unable to grip its rotund body thanks to her casted thumb.

“That isn’t dinner, is it?”

The pickles teetered on the edge of safety as she startled, whipping her head to see him standing in the doorway to his room. Even leaning against the frame, his head couldn’t be more than six inches from the top. Recovering from the scare, she defended her choice in food. “I wanted to ration the sandwiches Rose left. And I was going to eat more than pickles. I’ve got some microwaveable mac and cheese.”

She turned away from his grimace to continue working the jar from the fridge. While her right hand was weak, she managed to curl all five fingers around the lid and lift it onto the kitchen island.

“Rose left?” He padded from the doorway to the opposite side of the counter, gently swiping the jar from her struggling hands and twisting off the cap with a soft _pop_. On her best days, Rey’s attempts weren’t that effortless. “Wasn’t she looking after you?”

“I’m not a pet,” she groused, attempting to squeeze a dill pickle between her middle and ring fingers. “I'm just adapting to some new. . .challenges.”

When he reached for the jar again, she curved her torso around it protectively and flashed him a warning look. He raised his palms in surrender, then placed them both on the island’s top. “Sure you’re not a dog with a bone?”

Had she done something to tick him off recently? She didn’t deserve his hiked eyebrows and grumbly voice, even if the latter gave her eardrums a secret thrill. All she wanted was a damn pickle. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Rey turned to reach for one of the knives on the magnetic strip Ben had installed near the oven. She pinched the handle of the longest one between her knuckles and returned to the jar, using the sharp utensil as a spear.

“I’m resourceful.” She smiled triumphantly as she rescued a pickle from its briny jail; her smile morphed into a devilish grin at the horrified expression on his face as she raised the snack to her lips.

“Careful!“ One large hand encircled her cast so quickly it almost sent the knife and pickle clattering to the countertop. “These are sharp.”

He had too good a grip on her arm for her to move it, so she dipped her head and closed her lips over the green shaft until her breath fogged the blade. Then she bit down with a satisfying crunch, adding a brief moan to communicate the pleasure of her victory. Chewing, she straightened her spine to look him in his warm, cappuccino eyes.

“You should try living on the edge sometime.” Though a fat inch of the pickle remained, she relinquished the knife and its victim to Ben.

“I see that’s worked out well for you.” As if sensing the rudeness of his comment, he set the blade aside with a sigh and moved around to open the refrigerator door again. “How about I heat you up some soup? I had extra from yesterday’s recording.”

Wait a minute. Wait a gosh darn minute. Was Ben Solo—mister “plum tomatoes and Roma tomatoes are not the same thing”—offering to give up some of his specially prepared food to her? There had to be some kind of catch. The tides didn’t change so drastically without the moon acting up.

“As nice of an offer as that is, I have to ask: it’s not some weird fish soup or something, is it?” On a weekly basis he made something that either stunk up the apartment or that she had no hope of spelling correctly as she Googled it. Why would anyone try to dress up a ham and cheese sandwich under the pretentious name _croque monsieur_?

“Not as adventurous with your food?” Dimples appeared on his cheeks as he removed a glass container and peeled away the top to show her the contents. “Broccoli cheddar. This week’s theme was budget meals.”

She contained her eye roll using her last shred of manners. They didn’t keep her from jumping up to sit on the island, watching as he found a pot to heat the soup. “That’d be great, thanks.”

His eyes traveled the length of her torso twice before turning away, muttering something she couldn’t hear.

“My third foster family was this old couple. Jyn, the woman, was fond of reminding me what counters were made for.” She wasn’t sure why she volunteered that information, nor could she fathom why his quizzical expression made her break eye contact before mumbling, “‘Glasses, not asses.’”

His lips kept his laugh buttoned up, forcing it to become a thoughtful hum. “Reasonable logic.”

Rey tapped her heels against the cabinets, leaning her head to one side as though she might be able to figure out her roommate by seeing him at a different angle. Ben had only been living with them for three months. The grown son of Greer’s former racing coach, Han Solo, the last thing Rey had pictured when she proposed she and Rose sublet the second room was a moody perfectionist who had as much knowledge about BMX as she did about fancy French cooking terms. Though Rose and Ben had fallen into the amicable roomie dynamic after the first few weeks, Rey hadn’t found the same footing with him.

Maybe he was still mad about the slice of cheesecake she’d eaten, mistaking it for Rose’s leftovers.

“Wanna sign my cast?”

He turned off the burner and ladled the soup into a bowl while eyeing her pink monstrosity.

For wanting to appear as mature as possible, she was doing a stellar job. Kids asked for friends to scrawl their names on casts. Not adults. She shook her head, mostly at herself but also at the hideous plaster. There was no taking back the request. She shrugged. “I figure the more signatures I get, the less ugly it'll look.”

He placed the steaming bowl next to her and retrieved a spoon from the utensil drawer, setting it between the soup and her hip. It was, perhaps, as close as they’d been since he’d first moved in. Maybe it was the result of something he’d cooked earlier, but Rey breathed in the scent of sage and butter when he was near. She could see how the individual strands of his dark hair curved in opposing waves against his cheek.

“I’m not sure I have a Sharpie.”

It was his parting comment. No _bon appetit_ or other indication he hoped she enjoyed her meal. He simply strode to his room, leaving her to contend with the soup and spoon on her own.

Or so she thought. Five minutes later, he emerged again, wiggling a slim marker between his fingers. His shoe caught on the vinyl flooring, bringing him to an abrupt, squeaking stop. He blinked wide at her feral smile.

Smeared across both of her cheeks, dribbled down the front of her shirt, and dotted over the counter was the evidence she’d made progress on the soup. . .though, as yet, she'd not succeeded getting much of it into her stomach. She glanced at the traitorous spoon which lay several feet away on the floor, then back to Ben.

“It’s good,” she offered.

“I didn’t even get to garnish it.” His feet thawed enough to let him proceed to the counter. Along the way, he scooped up the abandoned spoon and grabbed the dish towel from the oven’s handle, wiping up some of the mess she’d made. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Getting Rose off her back wasn’t enough. She had to prove to herself that she could manage simple tasks. Being unable to eat without assistance was a type of dependence she’d never, consciously, experienced. As young as toddler-hood, she’d learned to push a chair in front of the counter and climb her way to cereal in the upper cabinets.

Plus, there was nothing really wrong with her. The doctor had told her she was lucky to have avoided sustaining any serious injuries resulting in crushed ribs or head trauma; getting back to normal should be a relatively short and painless process. Six weeks would fly by.

She’d always thought she was good at waiting. Turned out, waiting and patience were two different things. She could wait while distracting herself with riding the track or learning a new stunt. Now that those had been taken from her, now that she couldn’t even open a jar of pickles, she yearned for some small thing she could control. Feeding herself, for one.

“I can figure this out,” she muttered, turning her head to use her t-shirt as a napkin.

Ben beat her to it, protecting the thin fabric with the absorbent towel. His fingers gripped her chin, holding onto it as he side-stepped to stand in front of her, gently directing her eyes to his. “You almost died this week.”

If he’d stabbed her with his fancy knife, it would have hurt less. Angry tears welled in her eyes. All the others had skirted around the words, but Ben forced her to face them head on. Though she couldn’t move her jaw, she could still avert her gaze. “I’m fine.”

“The cast and sling say otherwise.”

She sniffed. “If I punch you, will you believe me?”

“Go ahead.” He released her and extended his arms in an offer of no resistance. “Show me.”

It wasn’t possible, and they both knew it. In theory, she could bludgeon him with her left arm’s short cast, but the pain wouldn’t be worth the effort. For a brief moment she thought about kicking him instead, considering how close his groin was to her foot; however, she decided to slide from the counter and retreat for now.

Her body rubbed against his as she vacated her spot, triggering all levels of awareness in her brain. Beneath the sage, he smelled like charcoal. And though she'd always considered him a sturdy build with his broad shoulders and thick waist, she hadn't fully registered what those muscles would feel like.

“Cooks are supposed to be pudgy around the middle,” she whispered before she could quiet the thought.

“Is that your best jab?”

Her eyes snapped up to his face, taking in the way his long, aquiline nose tilted down at her. “Go to hell.”

Frustrated, she stomped off to the room she and Rose shared and closed the door. Not satisfied with the distance, she continued into the bathroom and put another barrier between them before considering her reflection in the mirror. There were still remnants of soup puree on her cheeks and a few flecks along her neck. Rey gripped a hand towel and wiped away the food, feeling like an idiot. A proud one, but no less foolish.

Why couldn't she let someone—Rose or Ben—help her without feeling useless? Why did she push away the people who were trying to make her recovery easier? It wasn't like she'd be relying on them for the rest of her life. It was just a few weeks. Was her ego really worth suffering for?

When she emerged from her bathroom, she discovered Ben had granted himself permission to open her door, though he lingered at the threshold. Fragrant steam rose from the bowl in his hands. “You didn't eat much.”

She couldn't deny her failure or her unsatiated hunger. Her stomach's growly protest at the mere sight of food gave her away. Still, that didn’t mean she had to accept his presence. “Leave it.”

“So you can slather it on like lotion again? I think not.” He moved into the room, stopping at the foot of her unmade, full-sized bed. “May I?”

Remembering her thoughts in the bathroom about letting others help, Rey sighed and nodded as she lowered herself to the mattress first, pushing away the balled up sheet. Ben followed her lead. Immediately she understood why he'd crammed a California king into his room though it had seemed impractical when he had the thing delivered. Even sitting on her bed, he took up half the space. If he attempted to lie down, his long legs would hang off the end.

The surface of the soup looked different now. Sprinkled with finely chopped green onions and delicate shreds of cheese, it certainly looked like an appetizer at an expensive restaurant. Dipping the spoon into the bowl, he lifted the piping contents to his lips and blew away the heat. Color crept onto Rey's cheeks as she watched his plump lips purse. She couldn't meet his eyes when he extended the utensil.

“Would it help if I make airplane noises?”

Her gaze jerked back to his, mouth dropping open to tell him where she'd shove that spoon if he so much as hummed—

He was quick. Precise. Before she could inhale, smooth metal slipped over her tongue and deposited a spoonful of cheesy, creamy goodness. Rey's lips responded automatically, closing over the spoon and cleaning it off. After swallowing, she realized that her eyes had drifted shut in bliss at the heavenly taste.

A smug grin waited on the other side of her lids. “Good?”

“If you tell anyone about this, I'll put you in a body cast.”

Full, dark lashes fanned against pale cheeks to hide the widening smile in his eyes. “Sounds itchy.”

“You better believe it. And there's no worse misery than an itch you can't scratch.”

He raised a new spoonful to his lips, cooled it, and offered it to her. “Dying might have been worse.”

The comment was stated too gently to qualify as a joke. And considering it was the second time he'd brought it up, her brush with death must have rattled him more than she realized. Why? In the three months he’d lived with them, he and Rey had spent only a handful of hours together. When she wasn’t working at the pro shop, Ben was occupied with editing videos for his vlog. They rarely crossed paths except for passing greetings.

Her conclusions about Ben Solo weren’t kind: he was a tightly wound, workaholic lacking a social life who took himself too seriously. She could only imagine what their interactions might have led him to deduce about her: a daredevil with a soft spot for indoor plants—if there was a flat surface in their apartment without a pot on it, it was only because she hadn’t yet figured out what would be happiest in that particular lighting. By now he also probably thought she embodied the antithesis of femininity. He'd once caught her drinking orange juice straight from the carton, shuddered with disgust, and silently walked away.

So, to hear the tremor in his voice because of her accident, as if she were one of her more fragile houseplants that needed extra support, attention, and love, flipped everything she thought she knew about him on its head. More surprising, instead of pissing her off, his obvious concern caused a light flutter in her gut.

“I didn't die,” she reminded him with a soft smile, bringing her left hand to the side of the bowl and overlapping his. The tips of her three uncasted fingers brushed against the ridges they encountered. “A few more weeks and I’ll be good as new.”

“I’d like to help in the interim. With your meals,” he said as he fed her another spoonful, adding, “and your pickle habit.”

“You don’t have to do that.” A drop of soup landed on her chin as he withdrew. It was too low for Rey’s tongue to swipe it away, though it didn’t stop her from trying.

“I make plenty of food,” he argued, thumb rubbing away the drip. Without pausing, he brought the digit to his mouth and cleaned it off.

The flutter in her stomach turned into a kick. What was going on down there? Her tongue examined her lower lip to make sure it was clear of any broccoli bits before speaking. “I eat a lot. I’m talking growing teenage boy levels here.”

His chuckle was smooth and pleasant. “I’ll make extra.”

“I bet I’ll wear you out after the first week.”

“And if I win?” One brow cocked in question. “What are you willing to gamble? It’s not like you can wash the dishes in exchange.”

Why did men always take bets so literally? Every time she threw one at Poe over a difficult move, she made fifty bucks. Money probably wouldn’t entice Ben, so she shrugged. “You can come up with something.”

“A blank check wager? Dangerous.”

She waved him off. Rey may not know him well, but she was confident about one thing: “I’ll annoy you long before you can cash it in.”

“Do you think you annoy me?”

She scooted back on her mattress so she could fold her legs in front of her. “You hole up in your room anytime I come home.”

“I—”

Rey spoke over him, “Rose just says you're awkward.”

He set the bowl in his lap. “I’m awkward?”

At the beginning of the evening, she’d have said he was socially awkward, but now? Quiet. Reserved. Capable of communication, but selective about who he deigned to grace with his words.

“I think it's simpler than that,” she amended. “You don't like me. Which I get. I forget to change the empty paper towel roll all the time. I never apologized for when I was drunk and ate your cheesecake. I'm chaos in your world of calm, which is exactly why I’m going to annoy you before you can win the bet.”

“Stop.”

She held onto the breath she was going to use to list more incriminating incidents. His thumbs traced around the edges of the bowl while he stared into its beige and green contents. Was he. . .angry with her? His shoulders didn't read that way, but she couldn't imagine what else would have him frowning so intensely at the soup.

“And my family calls me dramatic,” he began gently, raising his head and slowly turning it to meet her eyes. “I’m volunteering to do this. It's not a burden or an inconvenience, so get that thought out of your head.”

“Ben—”

“Think about this: the alternative is eating five weeks worth of questionably yellow noodles and sodium-laden lunch meats.” At her silence, he took a quick breath. “Please tell me that prospect horrifies you?”

She couldn’t confirm reluctance about the future she’d faced without concern half an hour ago. Instead, she stretched one leg toward the floor, drawing the left into her pelvis so she could look at him properly. “One condition: until I figure out how a spoon works again, you've gotta stop giving me these pathetic baby bites. They're a tease. Just shovel it in there.”

He laughed but spooned out a larger portion at her request. “Maybe by the end of this I'll have taught you some basic manners.”

Rey stuck out her soup-covered tongue between upturned lips.


	2. Jumpstarted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Rose spending more time at Finn's, Rey needs some extra help with the basics. Ben is happy to help. . .but is it only as a friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love on the first chapter. I am glad you're enjoying these two silly ducks. Another gratitude shout out goes to [CommanderCrouton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commandercrouton/pseuds/commandercrouton) for beta-ing this chapter and giving me the kick in the pants I need to finish things!

Six weeks at three meals a day meant one hundred and twenty six chances for Rey to figure out how to feed herself again.

Thank goodness it didn’t take quite that long. By the end of the first week, she’d figured out how to hold her fork and spoon without dropping pieces of cereal or chunks of chicken into her lap. Most of the time. Ben made no comment on her failed attempts, though she noticed all her meat began coming to the table pre-cut.

She smiled at the sliced steak set before her now, each pink-centered morsel perfectly equal in size. “Still trying to get my table manners under control?”

He poured her a glass of Pinot Noir—her first taste of alcohol after weaning off her pain medications—measured out his own, and finally took his seat. “There’s a wide range between Neanderthal and fine dining etiquette. I’m hoping to nudge you toward the center.”

Rey pinched her fork between her middle and index fingers. She stabbed the first slice of meat and lifted it, triumphantly flaunting her skill in his face. “Hey, it’s not like I ate the last steak with my bare hands. I had it speared.”

“You tore through it like you had fangs. There was slobber everywhere.”

She stopped chewing long enough to give him a toothy smile. “I may have gone a little overboard with that. But your face was priceless.”

He muttered something under his breath before taking a long draw from his wine. When he set it down, his eyes scanned from her temples to her mouth, the way they always did when they ate together.

Tonight she didn’t make him vocalize his obvious question. “It’s delicious. One of your grandmother’s?”

After he’d promised to feed her, he’d produced a set of recipe cards organized by categories like “main course,” “side dishes,” and “salads." He'd told her to choose the ones she liked so long as they contained two or more vegetables (onions didn’t count). Most of the ones she’d selected came from the “comfort foods” section where he’d grouped meals he’d grown up eating. Each was transcribed in the most beautiful penmanship she’d ever seen. Rey salivated over the curves and flourishes of his calligraphy almost as much as she did over the listed ingredients.

“This one is courtesy of a family friend. It’s braised in tea which reflects the tannins found in your wine.”

In her mind, steak should be slathered in ketchup and sloshed down with a bottle of some beer with “lite” on the label. But she listened as he described the nuances of beef and the flavor profiles brought out by the cooking process and unconventional ingredients. When he began to break things down on a molecular level, she smiled into her Pinot. His large hands became storytellers when he nerded out about food, and she couldn’t help focusing on how they molded his words out of air.

Abruptly, he stopped talking. His hands dropped to the tabletop like sails without wind. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

Rey snapped her attention back to his face, bumping the bottom of her glass with her chin. The stem was already unsteady between her fingers; the unexpected collision sent it tumbling out of her grip, drenching the front of her shirt and landing on the wooden table, where it began rolling toward the floor.

Ben’s hand stopped its fall.

“Nice catch,” she remarked, pulling the saturated fabric from her chest and grabbing a napkin. She blotted the spot. “Shit, it’s all over my sling too.”

Ben’s napkin soaked up the droplets from the nylon material. “This should be fine.” For a brief moment, his napkin hovered over her chest as if about to dab at the stain, but it retreated just as quickly. Her shirt was beyond the help of dabbing. “This will stain if you don’t treat it now. You should change.”

Yes. Change. The only problem with that was, “Rose isn’t here.”

Lines appeared on his brow, loosened, then deepened again as he processed her statement. “She’s not.”

Rey stood up, chair squeaking along the vinyl floor. It nearly tipped over. “I can manage.”

“I can help,” he said at the same time. When she stood there, jaw slack, he added, “Friends can do that, right?”

Her pre-accident loungewear had mostly consisted of sports bras and dropped armhole tanks that exposed the sides of her torso. He wouldn't be seeing that much more. “Sure. Yeah. Totally fine.”

_Totally._

She didn't give herself time to second-guess her decision and moved to her bedroom. Ben followed.

"I have to take my sling off first." Rey's fingers worked at the straps secured to her waist and crossed diagonally over her chest, loosening the contraption that made the juncture between her neck and shoulder ache on a daily basis. Allowing her arm to dangle limply at her side, Ben lifted the strap over her head and delicately peeled away the sling.

"It's easier to start with the left arm," she told him, already bunching her t-shirt's hem in her fingers, creating space between it and the camisole she wore underneath instead of a bra.

Ben nudged her hand aside and took over, rolling the fabric into a hollow disc as he worked up, releasing her casted arm before carefully guiding it over her head and down her right side. His movements reminded her of someone concentrating every muscle on not touching the metal sides in a game of Operation. When he bumped her hand as he drew away, she had to overcome the urge to make a buzzing noise.

Though he'd only removed a thin cotton shirt, her skin broke out in goosebumps as if a cool breeze had just blown across her chest. Looking down, she noticed the Pinot had seeped through and stained her white undershirt as well.

"A second victim," said Ben.

They both stared at the red bloom between her breasts. On his pale cheeks, spots of telling color sent signals to parts of her body she hadn't thought about in months. But blushing at each other like they were middle schoolers wasn't going to solve her current dilemma.

"Guess I should treat it now or it'll turn into a casualty."

Not sure if she was torturing herself or him, Rey carefully slid the right strap down her unencumbered arm. Without the sling, things were a bit less challenging, though only her left arm could truly move with any purpose.

After she'd worked the thin strap over her elbow and off altogether, she asked, “Could you get the other one?”

His eyes widened, though his hand came to her shoulder. Two fingers pinched the shoestring support and slid it over her shoulder’s hump. He let go and it dropped to her elbow. There were two options here: she could turn away to finish pulling the top down herself, or she could remove it while facing him. In either case, he’d still have to help her put on a new shirt; he was bound to see _something._

“Keep going.” If she’d had more than one sip of wine, Rey could pin her boldness on that instead of her desire to see Ben squirm.

"Should I?”

“It’s not like you don’t walk around the apartment tits out in the mornings.”

The color on his cheeks deepened from blush pink to fever red. “My walking around without a shirt is hardly the same as—"

Rey used her three mobile fingers to grip the fabric over her stomach and yank it down, exposing her breasts. Ben sucked air in hard before burying his teeth in his lower lip. His eyes darted between her pebbled nipples and her face, unsure where to settle.

Her shoulders rolled back a bit, making her cringe when she tweaked the injury to her right side. "Now, are you going to let me stand here like this, or are you going to help me?”

There was the slightest tremble in his hands as they slid beneath the cotton, gathering it into a wide ring and lifting it above her head in one swift motion. He shook it out and set it on the bed with her discarded t-shirt. “What do you want to wear?”

“I don't know if I want my laundry pile to keep growing,” Rey teased, a little out of breath. “Maybe it's best I eat like this.”

He clamped his hand over both eyes as if fighting off a sudden migraine. “Rey.”

She smiled at his flustered movements and expression, deciding to show mercy. “Top drawer. A black tank should be in there toward the left.”

He stepped to the dresser and dug around for the top, muttering, “Next we’re working on your organizational skills.”

Finding what he sought, he returned to her and created another ring to bring down around her head. Rey didn’t have any trouble slinging her left arm through the opening, but Ben had to help her lift the right.

“Sorry,” he mumbled when she winced.

“You’re gentler than Rose.” A silly thing to say. Why was she comparing them? He didn’t need to know that, for all his bulk and size, his touch was almost tender. Still, as he carefully navigated stabilizing her right arm, she asked, “You know I won’t break, right?”

The corners of his lips tugged down. Reaching around her, he circled the support band around her waist and buckled it into place. Then he adjusted the strap between her breasts, smoothing his hand over the Velcro to secure it. “Just because Pyrex is durable doesn’t mean you toss it around.”

Rey shook her head and cuffed his arm with pink plaster, needing to put some distance between them if they had any hope of getting back to their interrupted meal. “If you’re going to compare me to kitchenware, make it Teflon.”

* * *

No secrets existed between Rey and her best friend. Her growing attraction to their broody roommate was no exception, though she didn't come right out and announce it. While Rose spent the majority of her time with Finn these days, her wellness visits to help Rey change, shower, or brush her hair were enough for her to figure it out.

She knelt behind Rey on her bed while she used her fingers to comb her hair into three looped buns, securing each with elastic. In the mirror, Rey could see the smug grin on her friend’s face. “What?”

Rose stifled a giggle. “Nothing.”

“Your cat-caught-the-canary look says it’s something. Spill.”

Another giggle, this one unsmothered. “You wore mascara last night.”

Then she hadn’t cleared it all away with her makeup wipes. The remnants must have streaked down her face in the shower like red handprints. Rey shrugged it off. “So what if I did? I’ve been cooped up in the apartment. I’m bored.”

“Uh-huh,” Rose responded with a skeptic glance. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with your dinner date with Ben.”

“It was dinner. Not a date,” Rey protested. "Besides, we eat together all the time."

Rose tapped her lips with the comb's handle. “Was there wine?”

“Yes.” She’d even managed to drink it without any mishaps.

“Real plates?”

What did that matter? “Ben says they're more environmentally friendly.”

Rose leaned down, resting her chin on her good shoulder. Her voice hedged on conspiratorial. “Candles?”

Okay, that _had_ struck her as odd last night; it had been a new addition to their routine. And while the votive candle in its tiny glass jar wasn’t exactly flashy, the soft light it cast onto their plates had assigned a different tone to their dinner. She’d caught him staring as she slurped the ends of spaghetti into her mouth. Hell, she’d caught herself watching the way the shadows bounced over the bridge of his nose and curled into his dimples.

“Well?” Rose ground her chin into the crook of her neck to tickle her.

Between laughs, Rey confessed. “Just. . .one.”

Rose squealed with delight, pressing her nose to the side of Rey's head as if trying to bury the happy sound. “It was a date!“

With all those boxes ticked, it certainly sounded like a date, but Rey still had a hard time believing Ben felt anything other than friendly toward her. Since the shirt incident, he hadn’t lingered long after their meals and he rarely wiped crumbs or other food particles from her chin as he had early on. If anything, he seemed more distant.

Had it been a date, surely he would have made a move. A single candle did not qualify.

“I just wanted to feel pretty.” Rey could admit that much. What she was hesitant to acknowledge was her desire to hear Ben confirm her efforts weren’t in vain. He hadn’t—merely stared at her eyes a bit longer than usual before cutting her meatball into quarters.

Rose’s hands fell from her hair to her waist, wrapping her in a loose hug. “You are beautiful, my friend. And he’ll tell you. He’d be an idiot not to.”

* * *

It felt so good to get her blood pumping again. Every muscle burned, wanting more.

But Rey didn’t want to push her luck. Three weeks off her bike had been torture—full of restless nights because she needed to move, to propel herself foward instead of lounging around recovering. Her physical therapy sessions only chipped at her drive to be active. She missed the squeak of rubber on metal, missed the way the sun felt on her face as she launched off a ramp, missed the cheers that told her she’d nailed a landing.

Her stationary bike—an ancient model she and Rose had carried up from a yard sale—couldn’t satisfy her craving in many ways, but at least it had let her work off some of the energy building up in her body’s every cell. Rose would yell at her for attempting any unauthorized exercise, but at least Rey hadn’t used the treadmill for a long run. Even she didn’t think the repeated impact of her footfalls would be great for her shoulder.

Wiping away sweat with a towel, she headed into the kitchen to fill her water bottle. Ben was sitting on an island stool. Several books were spread over the granite, with yellow and orange sticky notes plastered to the pages he wanted to revisit. She couldn’t make out any glossy photographs of finished dishes, but she thought they might be cookbooks.

“Research?”

“Yes.” He looked up from his books, and Rey’s heart rate catapulted. “Planning ahead for a week on Colonial America and. . .what?”

She set her water bottle down and pointed at her eyes. “Glasses.”

“Oh.” He smiled a bit sheepishly, removing the black frames one-handed. “They make it easier to read the footnotes.”

Rey pulled on the straw tab and gulped down several inches of liquid, then wiped her mouth on the inside collar of her shirt. “So, Colonial America. Does that mean I’ll get to tear into a turkey leg after a Thanksgiving video?”

Ben folded his glasses and set them in the binding of the nearest book, turning his attention to her instead. “I’m afraid that’s a myth. At the first feast, you’d be more likely to find oysters than turkey legs.”

“I’ve heard oysters are aphrodisiacs.” Where had she pulled that fact from? And why did she want Ben to know she knew? “That’s probably a myth too, huh?”

“Partly.” He leaned back on the stool. “We consider some foods sensual because of how they’re eaten. It’s about focusing on the lips, the tongue, the. . .”

For her sanity, she had to shut him up. “I get it. Mouths are sexy.”

His eyelids slipped down as if they could hide how his gaze traced over her lips. “Some.”

It was good to have the island between them. Rey shifted from one foot to the other, unsure if she wanted to run at him or run away. But what would she do if she chose the former? Tell him he was the one with the most sinful, desirable mouth she’d ever seen? Would she kiss him?

They were only friends. If she made a move and he rejected her, their living situation would turn awkward fast.

But would he turn her down? Rose’s teasing remarks about their dinner “dates” filtered through her thoughts. If she weren’t spending the weekend at Finn’s she’d be able to coach Rey through this predicament. “I wish Rose were here.”

She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until he cleared his throat and responded, “She’d be reading you the riot act right now for working out.”

Her lips tweaked in a small smile as the imagined diatribe played out in her head. “Yeah, she would. But at least I’d be in the bath while it happened.”

“When will she be back?”

Rey hummed. “Late Sunday? Early Monday?”

“That’s a while to wait.”

As it was only Friday, Rey couldn’t argue with him. Had she not worked out, she’d probably have been fine so long as she kept her hair up. Going to bed covered in dried sweat wasn’t ideal, and something on her face must have told Ben she’d just come to that realization.

“Is there anything I can do?”

The question made her shiver, but she couldn’t let herself get lost in the offer. “I’m not helpless, you know.”

“You’re not. But you’ve also got two broken arms. Everyone has limits, Rey. So, tell me: can you get washed on your own?” She stared at him a moment longer, wanting to deny it, but ended up looking at her toes. That gave him his answer. “It’s not a big deal.”

Seeing her naked wasn’t a big deal? That hurt the tiniest bit. She tried again to rationalize him out of his decision to help her. “Ben, you’ve already done so much for me.”

“No big deal,” he repeated, standing. “I’ll run the water. Go get undressed.”

She finished drinking her water before following him into the bedroom she shared with Rose. Part of her wished the drink had been made of something stronger because it was one thing to have a best friend scrub her back, quite another to have a roommate she’d spent more than one night dreaming about cleaning her from head to toe. She would have to focus on the way he’d dismissed the act of bathing her as easily as if she’d asked him to fry up some eggs.

If he wasn’t bothered by it, then she wouldn’t be either.

Quickly, she yanked down her leggings and underwear. Next, she unstrapped her shoulder harness and lifted it over her head, letting her injured arm dangle as the doctor had instructed. With her left hand, she peeled her tank top over her head, then unzipped the front of her sports bra before carefully wiggling it off. She considered walking into the bathroom completely nude, wondering if he wouldn’t be affected then, but she thought better of it and wrapped her robe around her.

After all, she wasn’t trying to seduce the man.

Rey grabbed the plastic covers for her cast and the pillow she had to keep under her right arm to support her shoulder. She used her other hand to lightly cinch the robe’s front panels closed. “No big deal,” she whispered to herself.

Entering the bathroom, Rey found Ben kneeling next to the tub, his large frame bent over the basin, swiping at a mountain of bubbles which nearly reached the built-in soap shelf. “What happened?”

“I may have miscalculated how much bubble bath to add.”

The bubbles turned out to be infectious, as she let loose a burst of giggles. “Didn’t you read the bottle?”

“I didn’t think there was a recipe to this.”

Rey didn’t want to point out she had no need for bubbles at all; they belonged to Rose. Instead, she held out the pillow. “Will you cover this with the trash bag? I’ve got to put it under my arm so I can stop standing like Quasimodo.”

He did as asked, then used the second slip of plastic—this one a slim cylinder from a newspaper—to protect her cast from getting wet. Once the knot was secure, she decided not to stall any longer and rolled her left shoulder to let the robe fall unceremoniously to the floor. Stuffing the pillow under her arm, she stepped into the warm bath and squatted until she could sit. Little puffs broke away from Mount Bubble, landing in her hair and on the tip of her nose.

Rey closed her eyes and smiled at the ticklish sensation.

“Is the water okay?”

“Warm enough.” She preferred to step into a scalding bath and sit until it went lukewarm and she’d pruned, but: “This won’t take long.”

It was as if that assured statement made him set out to prove her wrong.

He started by cupping water in his hands and pouring it over her hair before she pointed at her shampoo bottle. The tips of his fingers massaged circles into her scalp, spreading the cleanser by increments. He worked meticulously, starting at her hairline and making his way back, hands and fingers mirroring one another on either side of her head, applying delicious pressure with his thumbs. Not even one wash at the hairdresser’s stood out in her memory as being this divine. Her nipples hardened against her thighs under his dedicated touch, as if raising a signal they wished to be next in line for his caress. Rey held her breath, not confident she wouldn’t pant beneath the luxurious attention he paid to the curve next to her ears.

She couldn’t stop the soft whimper she emitted when he reached the nape of her neck.

Ben cleared his throat, but continued rubbing the muscles at the edge of her hairline. “Is this okay?”

“Feels amazing.” There wasn’t a reason to deny it. “Don’t tell her, but you’re better at this than Rose, too. She takes all of thirty seconds to wash my hair.”

“That’s not enough time to get a good lather.”

Rey smiled at her knees. This man would know. His cloud of black hair reminded her of men in fancy perfume ads where the names of the scents were in French. Ben was definitely the type who listened to the lather, rinse, repeat directions on the bottle.

He turned on the water and used the personal hose attachment to cleanse her hair, then moved onto the conditioner. “Let it sit for a few minutes,” Rey instructed even though it didn’t need to.

Ben took that as a cue to lather up a washcloth and begin cleaning the rest of her, starting with her back. Using long strokes along either side of her spine, he dragged the cotton square from the curve of her shoulders to the edge of her tailbone beneath the water. He had to reach across her to wash her left arm down to her cast, then directed his attention to the right.

On her uncasted arm, he used no pressure except to support it gently from underneath, trailing the cloth down her upper arm to her wrist. “Are all these scars from riding?”

For the first time since stepping into the bath, she opened her eyes to see him regarding her. It was a mistake. Color immediately flushed across her chest under the intensity of his stare. Dark eyes gleamed with a little concern, a little awe, and a whole lot of something dangerous if they were going to continue down the platonic path they’d chosen.

She focused on her old battle wounds. “Not all of them. I rough-housed a lot with my foster siblings. Climbed a lot of things on dares.”

He laughed as he mindfully lowered her arm back to the pillow. “So you’ve been a daredevil since birth.”

She grinned as she lifted her left leg for him to wash her calf. “I vividly remember escaping from my crib as a toddler.” She held up her other leg. “I guess that’s why this whole recovery thing is frustrating. I’ve always helped myself.”

He drew faces on her kneecap before sliding the cloth down over the top of her thigh. It dipped beneath the water, pressing into the seam where her thigh met her pelvis, then veered to the outer edge, shifted underneath and came back up. “Needing assistance isn’t the same as being weak.”

His hand repeated the motion as before, but this time ran along the inner part of her thigh. Water sloshed as she clamped her legs together instinctively. He’d come so close to touching her _there_. “Ben.”

Wriggling his hand and the cloth free from its vice, he continued as if she hadn’t reacted, scrubbing along her neglected thigh. As he began his second sweep, he met her eyes. “Asking for help takes courage. It takes trust.” Holding her gaze, his fingers made short strokes on the top of her thigh, coaxing it to relax. “Do you trust me?”

Her slight nod could hardly count as acknowledgment, but her legs spread to allow his hand to pass over her skin. The pulse between her legs echoed the drumming of her heart. And with the rapid rise and fall of her chest—not to mention the flush that connected every freckle along her collarbone—Ben had to sense the change he’d caused. Things were beginning to spiral, and she didn’t know what this meant. First they were roommates who barely spoke to one another. Then, friends. Of a sort.

But friends didn’t do things like this.

The washcloth left her legs and brushed across her abdomen, creating a V of suds as he trailed the square from her left side, down to her navel, and then to her right side underneath the pillow. While the water had cooled, she couldn’t attribute her peaked nipples to anything other than his caress.

Her eyes fluttered shut when he traced the small swells under her breasts, the curves just enough to keep her from a “flat-chested” label. She leaned forward as he passed over each, gasping when the cloth dragged across a hardened tip.

“Fuck.”

The expletive was ragged and raw, prompting her eyes open to see him staring at her like a starved man. Sharp tears stung the corners of her vision because how could he do this? How could he make her feel beautiful without saying the word, especially when she had one utterly useless arm and the other was wrapped in pink plaster and a plastic shield?

“This is starting to feel like a big deal.” Her voice sounded foreign to her. Lower. Breathy.

He twisted the cloth around his index finger and polished a slender path between the valley of her breasts, over her sternum, and ventured further down, dipping into her belly button. She wanted to throw the rough square far, far away and get rid of the only barrier between his skin and hers.

“I feel it too.”

Her adrenaline spiked. It was the moment in all her jumps when the bottom of her stomach fell away and gravity scrambled to counteract an unauthorized flight. And then she came down. . .hard.

A crash’s impact would knock the wind out of her as much as his lips did. The initial surge pushed her back in the tub, sending waves of water and the few remaining bubbles over the edges to puddle on the floor. Ben chased after her body, planting one hand on the acrylic wall and the other on the tub's rim. Rey’s eyes slipped closed as his mouth slanted over hers again. The hair framing his face tickled against her cheek, teasing her with the smell of burnt sage, both fragrant and smoky.

She wanted to bathe in that scent. Reaching up, Rey’s left fingers stroked the side of his face through the plastic, wanting to curl them into the loose strands and tug him closer. With her other arm, she pushed against the edge of the tub to leverage herself up.

Bad choice. Firecrackers shot off along her shoulder and upper arm, sounding the alarm that this was too much, too soon—and not only for her arm. What were they really about to do?

Rey broke away from their kiss, the smaller muscles on her face twitching with pain as she settled her arm back on the pillow. “Ben, I can’t—”

“Hello?” Rose’s voice filtered in from the common area, followed by the sound of the door closing. “Rey? Ben? Anyone home?”

He was still locked in place, arms spread above her. Dark eyes darted over her face as if searching for something, but Rey had no answers for him. Her mind was as clouded as the water had become.

“Go.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Please. I don’t want—”

She didn’t get the chance to finish her explanation; he stood and exited the bathroom in two strides, the door clicking softly behind him. No hesitation.

Rey’s bottom lip trembled as she stared at the unicorn onesie Rose kept on the back of the door as her choice loungewear. Before tears could creep into the corner of her eyes, a light knock preceded the door opening. “Rey?”

She glanced up and offered her friend a smile she didn’t feel. “Didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”

“Uh, clearly.” Her friend sat on the closed toilet seat perpendicular to the tub, crossing her leg and leaning forward with her expression set to interrogator-mode. “Why did Ben run out of here flying half-mast? What did I interrupt?”

“Nothing.”

“I got an eyeful of what you’re calling nothing, and let me tell you: it sure was something.” When her lighthearted teasing had no effect, Rose changed approach and shifted positions, kneeling next to the tub as Ben had done. “Sweetie, what happened?”

Rey still couldn’t shake how he’d walked out without a word. He’d been so caring, not only in this, but in feeding her, clothing her. He’d talked about courage, trust. Maybe she’d opened up a part of her heart when he only wanted her to spread her legs. She’d trusted too deeply, too easily. They were roommates—friends, at most. Maybe asking him to give her a bath had been unfair.

The abandoned washcloth brushed against her leg beneath the water, and Rey struggled to catch it between her plastic-mittened fingers. “Just one friend helping another.” She wrung out the cloth in her fist and shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t throbbing dully. “No big deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter @GloveKinkQueen. I'm having an upcoming giveaway on a Reylo cross-stitch!
> 
> If anyone is curious, the chapter titles are tracks by Jukebox the Ghost (though they don't necessarily pair with the chapters). :)


	3. Undeniable You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week without Ben gives Rey some space to think, but it doesn't take Ben off her mind. Not one little bit.  
> (Also, smut.)

Rose continued to make one meal better than Ben: pancakes. Buckwheat and flax eggs had no place in a proper batter; for once she wanted to forget about complex carbs and healthy twists on classic recipes. Pancakes weren’t supposed to be complicated or good for the waistline. She wanted to stuff her face with golden rounds bathed in butter and syrup.

Her friend knew exactly what she needed. Rose’s fancified version of the breakfast food involved a whipped cream smile and a sliced strawberry for a nose. Rey dug in, first wiping away the grin that seemed to be mocking her, then cutting through the face’s big, fluffy forehead.

“Maybe you two should talk about things when Ben gets back,” Rose said, dishing up her own short stack.

Why would they talk about something that had happened a week ago? The chance for that discussion had passed.

The morning after the confusing—not to mention all manner of frustrating—bath, Rey’s body had refused to rise and drag her grumbling stomach to breakfast. She had heard Ben in the kitchen, the delicious scents of his culinary prowess doing their best to coax her out of her voluntary seclusion. But how could she have gone out there? What would she have said?

Even now, every time she closed her eyes she saw him braced above her, lips parted and rosy. The memory made her skin heat. As soon as it did, she relived the way he’d jerked back and scuttled out of the bathroom without a word. The hurt was still fresh.

No, she couldn’t have faced him that morning. Hiding beneath her pillow and attempting to drown out the sound of pots and pans had been her best option.

When she had ventured out, prepared to act like they hadn’t crossed any lines the night before, she’d discovered a fridge full of glass containers and a simple note saying he’d gone to his great aunt and uncle’s farm to film. Judging by how much he’d meal prepped, Rey guessed he would be absent for a while.

But a week without a word or text? It stung. If she addressed that night with him now, it might send him away forever. Rey didn’t know if she could risk that. Getting to know him over the last several weeks had been a good thing. A very good thing. She didn’t want to lose the chance of learning even more.

“It would make things more awkward,” Rey concluded. She shook her head, then tried to get away from the subject altogether. “I’ve got a shift today, finally. Can’t give lessons, but Greer has me on schedule at the front desk.”

Working would help take her mind off Ben Solo and the way he’d caressed her body in the bath, the way his lips felt against hers. It would be refreshing to get out of the apartment, too. Space would give her clarity. She’d prove to herself they were just friends who’d spent too much time together and unintentionally fogged boundaries.

Rose cut through her plans: “You’re still thinking about that kiss.”

Rey groaned. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Like I wouldn’t have gone into detective mode and bullied him into a confession.” Rose dissected her pancake in a way that made Rey think she was picturing Ben’s face too. “No one makes my girl pout all night—all week, really—and gets away with it.”

Fork tines separated layers of airy buttermilk. “It wasn’t that long.”

“If you say so. But I’ve slept across from you for three years. Fun fact about yourself: you don’t sleep facing the wall unless you’re upset.”

It was difficult to get anything past her friend. More than once, Rose had taken Rey flipping over as a cue to slide next to her, sometimes for comforting cuddles, sometimes to poke her until she’d been successfully distracted from her foul mood. That first night, she’d left Rey alone, as if she’d been able to sense her problems were on a different level.

“I just needed time to think.”

“Rey, remember I love you when I tell you this,” Rose prefaced, signaling an incoming pep talk. “You don’t think. You _do_. Always have. You launch off walls and ramps, pulling incredible tricks no one else would dare attempt, because you don’t think about landing. You just trust your body will do it.”

“That doesn’t always work out in my favor.” Rey waved her cast pathetically.

“Are you going to let one rough landing keep you off your bike?”

She wasn’t talking about bikes, of course. Rey stabbed at another bite of food. “No.”

“Then I think you need to jump into this like you do everything else. Something tells me you’ll manage to end up on your feet, Catwoman.” Rose stood from the island and plunked her plate into the dishwasher rack. She returned to kiss the top of Rey’s head. “I’m off to Finn’s for the long weekend. Remember: don’t think. Just do! And call me if you need to hide a body.”

* * *

  
Feet curled beneath her, Rey swiped through a racing app on her phone, skimming through the latest equipment images and specs to get a feel for what she’d see on the circuit when she returned. Getting sponsored by a national brand would be great, though she didn’t like the idea of being a poster child, which is what most marketing managers would turn her into when she made a glorious comeback. Maz might not be able to fund fancy new equipment as her exclusive sponsor, but the free beers and occasional tray of nachos after a ride were equitable tradeoffs in Rey’s book.

As she scrolled, a key turned in the lock. She didn’t bother looking up from her screen. “Did you leave your charger again? Honestly, you should just get another one to leave at Finn’s.”

“He might find that a little strange.” His voice was buttery, light, and rich all at once.

“Ben!” Rey locked her screen and lowered her phone, wiggling into a ninety degree angle. She drew the throw blanket higher, cursing herself for taking advantage of Rose’s weekend away to lounge around the apartment sans pants. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He set his bags inside the entryway and closed the door, giving Rey just enough time to stuff the edges of the blanket around her hips, hiding the fact she wasn’t wearing bottoms.

“How was your trip?”

“Tiring.”

For a moment, she thought he’d leave it at that. Was this how their communication was going to be from now on? Stilted, clipped, and to the point?

He carried his bags into the room and laid them next to his bedroom door, then crouched to unzip one compartment. “Got a lot of great footage, but shadowing Great Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen was a task even without the complication of filming.”

He removed a cardboard carton and a mason jar from his pack, then approached her from the rear of the couch, handing her the latter. The heavy glass container was filled with a burgundy jam capped with a square of plaid fabric and complementary red ribbon.

“For the jam cake you picked from the recipe cards.”

He remembered that? The flutters in her stomach over his arrival turned into full flaps. “Oh, that’s—”

Ignoring her dropped comment, he opened the carton and showcased an array of multi-colored eggs. Some were soft brown, while others were bright blue or seafoam green. Only two were white. “Freshest eggs you’ll likely ever eat. Retrieved them myself.” He held them steady as she touched a prettily speckled one with the tip of her finger, wanting to know if it was bumpy or smooth. “That one made me think of you. They’re like little freckles.”

A small smile curved at the corners of her lips. “You were thinking of me when you had your hand under a chicken’s butt?”

“It was a very snarky hen,” he illustrated, withdrawing the carton. “Would you like an omelette?”

She nodded before she had the wherewithal to politely decline. In truth, she’d missed his cooking. The labeled Tupperware containers and neatly printed reheating instructions he’d left for her had been nice—though she’d skipped using the oven and gone straight for the microwave, figuring he’d be none the wiser—but it wasn’t the same as eating a fresh, hot meal.

Rey shifted to the edge of the cushion. It wasn’t really about the food, was it? There was something else she’d been missing. “Ben—”

He paused with a frying pan in one hand and a small mixing bowl in the other. “What is it?”

Rey rotated the jam in her right hand, thinking about Rose’s advice. They had to address what had happened between them prior to his departure. Did it have to be this hard though?

Gripping the blanket together with her other fingers, she shuffled over to the island and sat on a stool. The mason jar clinked on the granite. Rey tapped the fabric on the lid, then finally met his eyes. “Are these. . .peace offerings of some kind?”

He emptied his hands of cookware and leaned them on the opposite lip of the island. “Maybe. Yeah. A little.” His head dropped between his broad shoulders. “I took things too far before. And I apologize for that.” He peered up through strands of rugged black waves. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Oh. It surprised her to hear him speak so bluntly.

“The apology isn’t necessary.The kiss was nice,” Rey started, feeling a blush creep up the back of her neck for lying. His kiss had been more than nice.

“It was?”

His tone was hard to pin down. Coming from him, doubt and hope often sounded similar. Maybe he was only seeking affirmation. “Yes. Just painful.”

Now she could see his confusion etched across his brow. “How do those work together, exactly?”

She winced over her own phrasing and clarified by raising her slung arm. “I tweaked my shoulder in the tub.”

It was Ben’s turn to color. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Rey reached over the counter to touch his hand, index finger rising and falling over his knuckles, repeating her earlier sentiment. “No apology necessary.”

He swallowed, then nodded. “It won’t happen again.”

Her heart sank as his message flashed like fluorescent bulbs above his head: FRIENDZONED.

Fine. She could live with that.

If they couldn’t explore what being together might look like, his gifts and attitude seemed to indicate they still had the chance to salvage what they’d had prior to the bath. Dinners, laughter, friendship. All good things.

Rey withdrew her hand. “How about that omelette?”

Ben’s fingers splayed on the counter, extending toward her before curling into a loose fist. His widening smile didn’t brighten his eyes, though he feigned excitement convincingly enough. “Prepare your tastebuds. This is going to be the most heavenly thing you’ve ever had in your mouth.”

She scoffed. “You say that every time you feed me.”

“When have I ever—?”

“With your eyes,” she said, walking around the island to get closer to the action. He’d made omelettes for her before, and watching the delicate discs take shape was part of the fun. Stopping next to the stove, she leaned her hip on the counter and tipped up her chin. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just curious as to what else my eyes have told you.”

Rey flushed. She’d really have to concentrate on not doing that now she knew he didn’t want to kiss her. Because those pretty eyes of his sometimes shouted his desire to do so. Especially now—paired with the natural smirk framing his perfect mouth with faint lines like the piece of art it was—they said kissing her had occupied his thoughts as much as kissing him had run circles through her mind the last week.

“They don’t ever seem to shut up,” she muttered, looking down at the butter melting in the pan. She scrunched the blanket’s fabric more tightly in her hand. Pants would have been a good idea before getting this close to him. Another thing she’d have to remember.

Ben set down the spatula and reached for the corners she held together. Rey’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed against her skin, just along the top line of her underwear. He made two quick knots, tugging until her hips jolted forward, making sure the fabric was snug like he was trussing a roast with twine. His handiwork left a large gap down her left thigh. Ben’s eyes swept up the line of her leg and came to meet her own gaze.

“Yours are pretty loud, too,” Ben whispered. “And they say you’re hungry.”

If only she could tell him how his kiss had burned through her like an accelerant, how his absence had left her feeling famished and wanting fuel.

But the butter began to pop and sizzle, signaling Ben to turn down the heat and start paying attention to his task.

Rey needed to dial back a few notches, too. For a moment, she’d been ready to jump on the counter and pull him into her arms, medical contraptions and all. That certainly wasn’t going to happen with the two of them being friends and all.

A shame.

As he cooked, the conversation turned to his time on the farm. It took a scant week for his body to reset and rise before dawn and even less time for him to build up several calluses on his hands. He’d learned about practices colonial farmers used to work the land in an efficient, productive manner. While they ate, he showed her pictures of the clothes he’d pieced together for his reenactment vlog, though nothing had fit him well. The trousers hugged his muscled thighs, the white stockings were half-rolled down his calves, and the poor shirt buttons couldn’t contain his massive chest.

Rey giggled at the tricorn hat on his head and period hairstyle. “The ponytail really sells it.”

He laughed and ran his fingers through his thick locks. “I'm ready to be trolled by my subscribers.”

“Trolled? I don’t think so.” More like he’d be receiving marriage proposals and even more scandalous offers. Rey felt another blush creeping over her face. “Especially if you post the video of you chopping wood. I don’t know that you should unleash such content on the world.”

He hummed in thought. “You’re right. It would probably be flagged as inappropriate.”

She laughed at the notion that anyone would report his bare-chested ax wielding as offensive content, though she thought he was likely teasing her. He had to know the effect he had on people, on her specifically.

Rey indulged an impulse and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I missed you.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Crap.

One hand reached to cover her uncasted fingers. The calluses felt rough against her knuckles. “I missed you, too.”

* * *

Even though she’d missed him—and admitted as much—Rey had a hard time adapting to having Ben back in the apartment. Sharing meals became increasingly difficult. It was hard to focus on him describing a recipe’s origin or complexity when she was hyper aware of the way his knee bumped hers under the table or the way he spread her napkin across her lap when they took their seats. Every laugh she earned with her stories of Poe wiping out on the track rumbled through her core. Nothing satisfied her more than moaning around a forkful of his cooking and watching his ears turn red. And the massages he’d give her when she complained about a rough day at physical therapy drove her absolutely mad.

Most disorienting of all was the way he continued to stare, sometimes with fondness, sometimes with admiration. Sometimes with a look she didn’t dare to fathom, like he was contemplating how to kiss her again. If the way he hovered at her bedroom door each time they said goodnight was any indication, he still desired her. No one would need to twist her arm for her to admit the same.

So why wasn’t he doing a damn thing about it? Why wasn’t she?

Fear. It was the only sensible reason.

Well, fear and hormones didn’t mix. One had to win. And as far as Rey was concerned, only one was a legitimate competitor.

The ache between her legs had been building for weeks; not even Ben's brief absence had helped it ebb. Since his return, it felt like it had doubled. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—endure suffering any longer. It could all be negated from a round or two with her rechargeable wand vibrator she told herself.

If she wanted to survive dinner tonight—with tailor-made aphrodisiacs like Ben’s slow smiles and yummy scent—Rey had to do something now. Rubbing her thighs together under the table wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

She only had to figure out how to operate her vibrator with her current handicaps. The handle was too wide to hold in her limited grip. She tried squeezing it in place with her legs, but it didn’t quite hit the spot.

Frustrated but determined, Rey tossed the vibrating tool on her mattress, then attempted to straddle it. It sank into the pillowtop, making the buzzing less intense against her clit. After several minutes, and getting no closer to the release she craved, Rey flung back her head and railed at the air, belatedly hoping the noise wouldn’t pique Ben’s interest.

The last thing she needed was him to walk in on her now.

Being this horny edged on neglect, and Ben was the criminal in her mind. He’d run his hands over every part of her in the bath—all but one, anyway—and kissed her, yet here she was: a ball of pent up hormones and no relief.

There had to be a way this could work.

Without using her injured arms, she stood and stepped off of the mattress. As she brought her second leg down, however, her foot caught in the rumpled sheets and she lost her balance. Attempting to right herself, she twirled in place, hopping on one foot. The other swung around and knocked over a lamp sitting on her nightstand. As it fell, the lamp took out her alarm clock and the bottle of lotion she kept there. It all crashed to the floor in the same moment Rey’s bare bottom hit the area rug.

She barely had time to process if all of her limbs were intact. The door from the living area opened, and Ben rushed in with a panicked note underscoring her name. “Rey, what happened?” He spotted her on the floor. “Shit, are you okay?”

His eyebrows drew down, as did the corners of his mouth, when she started laughing and couldn’t stop. Rey’s chortling was peppered with snorts. She couldn’t have answered him if she tried. And she did try. Every beginning syllable turned into a wheeze.

“I’m okay,” she managed, finally coming down from her fit.

“You sure?” He crouched down to help her stand, though he averted his gaze quickly, staring at her bed instead. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

Finally, he seemed to take everything in: her bare legs, the humming personal massager, the tumbled light fixture and personal effects. “So, you weren’t using the bed as a trampoline again.”

“I was. . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it even though her vibrator was still going strong on her bed. “. . .itchy.”

The first twitch of humor softened the rest of his face. This time his eyes were deliberate in their discovery. Though her legs were crossed, she was sure he could make out the curls between them. And he definitely knew she wasn’t wearing any form of bra under her tank top. His gaze heated her skin in a way that made her want to claw a path back to her vibrator.

Or sink her short nails into his shoulders.

She squirmed.

He noticed. “Still have the urge to scratch?”

Her breathing quickened, but she deflected with a firm, "Don't tease me."

"I'm serious."

Rey peered up at him, scrunching her nose like she was sniffing for deceit. “What, exactly, are you offering?”

Ben glanced at the bed, then let his eyes travel back to hers. “It appears you were trying to alleviate the itch. I could, uh, help. . .hold things, if you want.”

He extended his hand to her, palm up and open, asking her a question that needed no words. Rey traced faint lines all the way to the tips of his thick fingers. She moistened her upper lip with her tongue. “Those big hands of yours look like they can hold onto things.”

“Many things," he concurred, letting one finger reach out and trace the curve of her kneecap and proving the smallest spark can trigger an explosion. "Friends can come with certain—" his eyes squinted while searching for a foreign concept— “benefits.”

Ah, friends. So that was it. They'd circled back to their discussion before the bath. And he'd made a clear boundary. It was her choice now.

Rey decided to play it out. She really needed an orgasm. And she really wanted Ben to be the one to provide it. “No big deal, right? It doesn't need to get deep or. . .messy.”

As soon as she said it, her tongue swelled with regret. Not because his face shadowed at her words, but because the last ones made a void low in her core clench. She wanted deep and messy. And given Ben’s size, she was sure he had the capability to do so. Fuck, even his fingers could fill that empty, throbbing space and make a wreck of her.

"Tell me one thing," he requested, shifting on the balls of his feet while still crouched. "Is this the first time since your accident that you've attempted to get off?"

“Yes.” Rey wasn’t going to count the evening she’d tried to use her fingers. The idea had been abandoned quickly; the cast would have rubbed her skin raw.

“That's almost six weeks.”

“No need to tell me.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, caressing the shell between his index finger and thumb. "You're stubborn." He repeated the motion, making her shiver. "You still refuse to ask for help."

She leaned into his touch. "It's not something you often ask a friend for help with."

"Perhaps. I can't imagine Rose would agree." His head abruptly tipped up to consider the ceiling, lips puckering in thought.

She punched him in the arm, none too lightly, with her cast. "Don't you dare picture that."

His smile made her feel like warm syrup. "Maybe you just need to ask the right friend."

“You're really going to make me ask, aren't you?"

"I'm helping you practice."

"Ben?"

"Yes?"

She let out an exasperated sound and grit her teeth. "I could use—"

"A hand?" he cut in, dimples on full display.

Her eye twitched as she ran her tongue over the front of her teeth. How could he be so infuriating and sexy at the same time? Had she ever been this horny in her life? “I don’t know whether to smack you or kiss you.”

"I can help with that, too.”

His lips reminded her of warm peach cobbler. Soft and sweet in the way that made you want to devour them. Rey’s mouth parted, and Ben took the opportunity to persuade her away from violence with his tongue.

Inside her chest, her heart revved at the speed of her vibrator. Rey pulled back before she lost the willpower to do so.

Closing his eyes, he took a steadying breath before pulling back, standing up, and retrieving her toy. He examined the handle a moment and cut the motor. While the buzzing in the room died instantly, the buzzing in her head, in her blood, continued to fill her body with vibrations.

“If I had to go that long without touching myself, I’d have been begging on my knees for some relief.”

Rey leaned forward, using the edge of her cast to nudge the bottom of his chin up. “Guess that’s the difference between you and me, Ben. I don’t beg.”

His eyes darkened until she wasn’t sure he had irises anymore, only black pupils. “Not today, you don’t.”

In the past, when he’d reached for her, his hands shook. They didn’t now. The hand holding her vibrator wove underneath her bent knees while the other wrapped around her back and gripped her side. In one motion, he drew her to his chest and stood. It was the first time she’d truly felt the muscles he showcased around the apartment. His strength—the ease with which he lifted her—made her gasp and groan.

When he bypassed her bed, Rey asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“My room. More space to spread out.”

She did her best not to moan at the idea of having her legs spread wide on his humongous mattress with Ben’s tree-trunk body between them. The visual was enough to make her eyelids flutter. They were at his door before she recovered enough to speak.

“It’s my arms that are broken, you know. I can walk just fine.”

He toed the door open and sidestepped into the space that was more bed than room. With four carved, wooden posts that stopped mere inches from the ceiling and a black comforter, it looked like the sleeping quarters of a villainous king.

It was certainly evil, the way his voice dropped an octave as he lowered her to the bed and said, “See if you can say that when we’re done.”

Her mouth went dry, but she suspected it was because another part of her became hopelessly wet at his words. Rey scooted back as Ben followed her onto the mattress, walking on his knees toward the center. He held up the wand, tilting it back and forth, showing her he was ready.

“Any particular setting?”

Preferences proved difficult to recall when the present was so enticing. “Um, three’s good.”

One eyebrow hiked as he pressed the power button and changed the default low speed to her request. “Only good? How many speeds are there?”

“Ten. The others are too intense.” He smiled, running one hand on the underside of her thigh and coaxing it open even further. “What’s so funny?”

“That the Hellcat cyclist doesn’t go full throttle in every arena of life.”

She leveraged on her good elbow to sit up. “First of all, it’s Catwoman. Second—“

He cut off her next point with a kiss that had her collapsing back onto his pillows, argument abandoned. His left hand drifted to the side of her face, cupping the nape of her neck and tilting it so their mouths were at the perfect angle. She slid her tongue along his bottom lip and kissed the corners before returning to feel the full press of his hot mouth again.

Lost in the haze of their make-out, Rey’s entire body jolted when the vibrator’s head touched down. She gasped against his mouth, breaking away to look down the length of her body. This. This is what she’s been trying to do in her room and having no success. He added more pressure behind the wand as she swore.

“More to the left.” He adjusted, and her hips lifted from the mattress. “Fuck.”

“Is this what you need?”

“Yes.”

“Is it all you need?” he rephrased.

Her eyes flew open as her swollen mouth dropped, panting in time to her hips rocking against the vibrator. The sensation made her skin flush and every muscle tense, but it wasn’t everything she wanted. If she’d been on her own, before the accident, she’d have paired her vibrator with her dildo for a maximum sensory experience.

“I need. . .” What should she tell him? Her walls clamped around emptiness and she keened, back arching like her body was trying to reach for the missing piece. Finally, she found a word: “Filled. I need to be filled.”

“By what?”

She could request the dildo. Every ounce of her believed he’d run back to her room and retrieve it with only a word. But with Ben, she didn’t want a stand-in for the real thing.

“Fingers.”

The intensity of the vibrations waned as he pulled the wand away slightly. Rey’s body chased after it, practically falling into his lap. A string of “nos“ tumbled from her lips, punctuated by a drawn-out whine.

“You sure?” His voice sketched his disbelief, but his eyes were shaded dark with desire.

Rey purposefully ground her backside on the tops of his thighs. “You said I wouldn’t have to beg.”

His kiss didn’t linger, but assured her all the same. At the same time, he switched the vibrator to his left hand, allowing his dominant one to run over her labia, stroking through them with his middle and index fingers. A low growl of approval shook her more than the toy’s vibrations.

“You are drenched.”

Her rational brain ceased to function as his middle finger slid inside her up to the third knuckle. Her core fluttered around the newcomer in a flurry of welcome, but when she’d said filled, she meant it. One finger was nice, but it didn’t meet her quota.

“Another.”

The breath on her neck could have been a laugh or a pant, but the sound he made as his index finger joined the first was a pure, unaldaterated groan.

Rey’s response was more of a cry. “Yes!“

“That enough for you, Hellcat?”

She brushed his cheek with her nose, then slanted her lips over his, catching the lower one with her teeth. “For now,” she teased before kissing him fully.

His fingers curled, mapping the inside of her with diligent study. Then he retracted them and stiffened them into straight lines before thrusting them into her sex. Rey’s left arm flung out against the bedsheets, seeking to grasp anything she could— not much given her cast. Her other hand, with the corresponding arm still tucked in its sling, could do nothing except grope at her breasts through her tank top as Ben’s fingers pistoned into her.

Combined with the wand’s vibrations, Ben had her climbing toward an orgasm in seconds. Her muscles coiled, stacking on top of one another and compounding the pressure to a point where she had to let go or she’d shatter.

“Ah-ah—Ben, I’m gonna—Be—!“

He kept his unrelenting pace with his fingers until she thrashed hard enough to pull the arm sling’s strap taut. Tossing the vibrator to one side of their bodies, he used his freed hand to brush the loose hairs from her face, cradle the back of her neck, and drag her into their deepest kiss yet. All while he continued to stroke her, each pass more gentle than the last. Her muscles spasmed around him in little aftershocks, her shoulders trembling.

Eventually, he pulled his hand away from her heat and moved it on her lower back, bringing her to sit fully in his lap, one leg on either side, though it wasn’t her best straddle. In her current state, she was incapable of readjusting.

Ben didn’t seem to mind. She could feel the swell of him beneath her, but he made no movement to undo his pants. With her hands restricted, there was no way for her to speed the process along.

“Hey,” she said as he shifted from her lips to kiss along her jaw.

He glanced up at her. “You good?”

After all they’d just done, blushing should have been her last reaction to a question like that, but color bled onto her cheeks as she smiled shyly. “Yeah. I’m good,” she assured him, then cocked her head to one side. “What about you?”

“Fantastic.”

One eyebrow was all she needed to communicate her skepticism, but she added a squirm against his lap and a question of her own, “You sure?”

He licked his lips as his eyelids fluttered shut at her movement. A beat later, he nodded and lightly kissed her chin, her nose, her brow. “Yes.”

Her features scrunched into furrowed lines. “I know my hands are kinda out of commission, but I could—" She cut herself off as she watched his eyes widen, confounding her even more. “Don’t you want. . .?”

“Reciprocal benefits?”

She smiled, rolling her eyes. “Are simple words hard for you? Say it with me: blow job.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed like he’d swallowed something sharp. His right hand carded into her hair and brought their foreheads together. “This was about helping you,” he murmured. “None of this—the meals, the assistance—it isn’t supposed to lead to a sense of obligation.”

“But—"

“I’m doing this because I want to, Rey,” he continued, pulling away to search her eyes. “I want you.”

She’d give anything to be able to slide her fingers into his dark locks and massage away whatever ache was making his voice break. But she had to settle for touching her three fingertips to his cheek, caressing short lines over the space where she knew his laugh lines existed. Maybe she could draw them out.

“Perfect,” she whispered. “Now lose your pants.”

He rolled his hips forward and let her feel his erection, but his hand didn’t move from her spine as she tilted back. “You’re not understanding me.”

She slid from his lap and sank onto the rumpled comforter, whimpering at the loss of his heat. Frowning up at him, she tried to concentrate, but couldn’t figure out what he was trying to tell her. “You’ve got my brain all foggy.”

He scooted from between her legs to stretch out beside her, kissing her temple. “That’s because you’re hungry.”

“No,” she corrected. “I’m pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with food.”

He laughed, but it sounded sad. “I should go check the chicken.”

Rey placed her cast on his hip, fingers curling into the pocket of his jeans. She draped one leg over his calf, winding her way closer to him in any way possible. “Or you could stay. I won’t mind eating blackened chicken for dinner.”

This time his chuckle filled his eyes with mirth and something soft around the edges. His hand covered her cheek and ear as he shook his head. “Blackened and burnt are not the same thing.”

Resting on his pillow, she drank him in. The way he gazed at her. The way his thumb stroked lazy crescents across her cheek. The way his breathing matched her own. His words filtered back into focus, the fog wiped away by realization. Ben wanted her. No one had ever said those words to her and meant them the way he did. Physical wants, sexual wants, she knew what those looked and sounded like.

But Ben’s desires ran deeper.

“Rey?”

She wasn’t sure if it was her smile or her watery eyes that prompted his question, but she blinked back her tears and muttered, “You idiot.”

“What did I—?”

Her lips stopped his inquiry. “I want you, too.”

“As a friend?”

“Yes,” she replied, nuzzling her head beneath his chin and continuing to line kisses along his throat. “And as a personal chef. And as a walking dictionary. And as a lover.” His shirt impeded her lips from planting kisses any further than his clavicles, so she returned her gaze to his. “And as you, Ben. All of you.”

“No benefits?”

“Oh, I think there will be plenty of benefits,” she said as she stroked a finger over the bulge in his jeans. He shivered. “But I don’t want it to stop there, do you?”

He caught her casted arm and drew it up between their chests. Though only three of her fingers peeked through the plaster, he threaded his with hers, squeezing slightly. “No. I want all of you, too.”

Their lips met again, more passion than raging fire. Fresh from her climactic high, the ache between her thighs wasn’t as persistent. There was no need to hurry.

And Ben took his time. He helped her remove her shirt, then stood and removed his own clothing. Before returning to bed, he retrieved a condom, though didn’t tear open the wrapper. Instead, he explored her with his eyes, his hands, his mouth. By the time he touched her where she wanted him to, she was slick and writhing again.

“What do you need, Rey?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” she panted, repeating what she’d said earlier. “Fill me up.”

He circled her clit with the pad of his thumb, making her buck from the mattress. “With what?”

She tilted her head just enough to glare at him. “Benjamin Solo, if you don’t stuff me with your cock like one of those fancy pigeons—"

“Cornish hens.”

“—you’re going to regret it.”

He carefully tore the foil wrapper and rolled the condom into place before sliding between her legs. “Nothing would make me regret savoring this.” Propping himself up with his hands on either side of her body, he settled between her thighs and rubbed himself over her center.

Rey made a strangled sound as she pulled at her sling. If either hand were operable, she’d have reached between them and directed him inside. When Ben repeated the motion, dragging his cock over her clit, she hoisted her ankles to his back and locked them in place. “This is involuntary bondage, I’ll have you know.”

He smiled and dipped his head to kiss the side of her neck. “It’s kinda hot.”

“I should have known.”

Reaching down he aligned himself and pressed the tip into her pulsing sex. For a long moment, she thought he was going to tease her again. How could he hold off so long? Then, with one thrust, he hilted. Behind her eyes there were stars—multicolored, blazing pinpricks. Her hips shuddered as they rose to keep him buried.

Ben groaned. “Known?”

She needed the moment to adjust to his girth, so she said, “The way you trussed up that roast made me wonder.”

“There are many methods we can explore,” he responded, drawing back an inch and filling her again. “Later.”

A deep kiss sealed the discussion away for another time. Rey closed her eyes and did her best to relax her upper body, focusing all her movement into her pelvis. Ben wasn’t light, but he took care not to crush her as he drove home again and again. His thrusts were so powerful they had to break away from each other’s mouths or risk biting down unintentionally. Rey nuzzled her way along his throat, breathing in the heady scent of sweat and sex and Ben.

She could have stayed there forever if he hadn’t shifted to his side, tucking her ass against his lower abdomen and lifting her top leg to give his cock better access. Rey moaned loudly at the new position; she thought she’d felt full underneath him, but it was nothing compared to this. Knocking the crown of her head against his shoulder, she kissed the bottom of his chin.

“Does this—" he panted, still rolling his hips in a steady pace, “—feel good?”

“More,” she responded, not sure that answered his question. It was the only word she was capable of uttering at the moment.

Ben seemed to know. His thrusts became longer, deeper, harder, revving up the intensity to a level that had her breathless and bracing against the mattress with her cast. She had to hold on somehow or he’d fuck her to the other edge of the bed.

When he rested her raised leg over the back of his, it was like he was splitting her open. Stretched around his cock, wrapped around his body, she was in sensation overload and loving every second.

Then. Oh, then. His hand inched down and found her clit, making her keen with pleasure. Another few strokes and he’d have her coming again. She _needed_ it.

“Right there. Like that. Please,” she cried. The vibrator had left her sensitive, to the point his touch was on the blissful side of pain. The colorful pricks returned to the periphery of her vision. “Ben, I’m so close.”

His breathing told her as much as his words. “Me too.”

Thank goodness he was a listener. He didn’t change his fingers’ motions in speed or pressure, nor did he alter the rate of his thrusts. The only change was his pants ending in soft cries as he tried to hold on for her. His forehead ground against the juncture of her neck and shoulder as he whimpered her name over and over, setting his lips where his brow had been. She thought he might bite her, but he trailed kisses up the slope of her neck until he reached the back of her ear.

The moment he sucked at the spot just beneath the lobe, her world burst into showers of lights behind her eyes. “Oh my—”

He cut her off with a loud groan as he came too, holding himself still inside her while he shuddered. Rey wanted to turn and wrap her arms around his neck, but she had to be content with twisting her head to nudge his and prompt his lips to join hers in a lazy, gentle kiss.

All too soon, she felt him slip from her.

Ben’s face drew away, too. He kissed the hump of her right shoulder. “How do you feel?”

Rey wriggled in the bed so she could lie flat on her back. She was met with a stare that made her blush. She should have guessed, given how he quizzed her over his cooking, he’d do the same here. Still, it made her want to crawl beneath the covers. Hadn’t she vocalized enough for him during the act?

His brow furrowed at her quietness. He set his right hand on her sternum, splaying his long fingers across much of her torso. “Is everything okay?”

“What?” she asked. “Yeah. Fantastic.”

“You’re sure?”

Maybe he needed feedback in more familiar terms. “Ben, you cooked me. Stick a fork in me: I’m done. Well done.”

His mouth dropped open, bottom lip twitching with unspoken words. Finally, he closed his mouth and, promptly, snorted as he shook his head. True mirth filled his eyes. They watered at the edges. “I wasn't requesting a review, but thank you for the glowing commentary. You’re quite a meal. Michelin level.” His fingers fanned toward her bicep, tracing the edge of her sling. “I meant your arms. Do they hurt?”

Beneath his laughter, tenderness made the water in his eyes quake. It made her chest swell and tighten, though not in an uncomforting way; quite the opposite, in fact. She felt full on a deeper level than any of his fancy lunches or over-the-top dinners could ever accomplish. It was as if she’d consumed every one he’d fed her in the last six weeks in the span of a breath.

“No.” She skimmed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “Nothing hurts.”

And with the way he gazed down at her, with the way his hand caressed her jaw before leaning into another sweet treat of a kiss, Rey was pretty sure nothing would ever hurt again.

* * *

When the day arrived, he drove her to the doctor’s office. Finally, the doctor would cut through her cast and release her back into the world a healed woman. She’d be able to get back on her bike and up in the air where she belonged. If she trained hard, Greer had told her earlier that day, she could still compete in the women’s qualifier.

But her excitement didn’t end on the track.

Ben put a hand on her knee to quell its agitated bouncing while she waited for a nurse to call her name. “Keep it up and I’m going to have to find you a pogo stick.” Her other knee took over for the one he held captive, making him laugh softly. “And I’ll start calling you Rabbit instead of Hellcat.”

The movement stopped; she channeled the energy into an offended gasp instead. “It’s Catwoman. You know this.”

His fingers squeezed her knee. “I do.” Slowly, his hand dragged up her thigh, leaving a wide, heated track on her jeans. “And I know which nickname you prefer.”

Rey giggled and swatted his hand away, though he’d done his job: the nervous energy tunneling through her veins a moment ago had transformed into something different, something warm and comforting. Distracting. Just the thing she needed before she went in to see the doctor.

Rey leaned in, relaxing against Ben’s arm. “Thanks.”

The door to the exam rooms opened, and a nurse stepped out to call her name from a clipboard. Rey stood to go with him, feeling Ben stir beside her to do the same. He hovered for a moment before sitting down again. Though they were together now, it had only been a short time.

“Ben?” She tilted her head toward the waiting nurse. “You’re coming back, aren’t you? I’d like someone to be with me. I’d like you to be with me,” she amended.

He smiled and stood. “I’ll be wherever you want me.”

“Good,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek while the nurse rolled his eyes. As they crossed the threshold, she raised herself up on her tiptoes as if walking in heels. The nurse didn’t need to know her future plans. Ben saw what she was after and curved his head down, bringing his ear as close to her lips as possible. “Because the minute my arms are free, I’m going to want to touch all of you, finally."

He wrapped one arm around her waist and kissed her temple. "I'm all yours, sweetheart. In every way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to all who have read, enjoyed, and engaged with this fic. It means so much to me!
> 
> If you'd like to see what I'm up to next (or come say hello) I'm on Twitter @GloveKinkQueen. I'm holding a giveaway until the end of July 2020 for one of my Reylo cross-stitches!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter at @GloveKinkQueen where I'll likely post sneak peeks to parts 2 & 3.


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